


Little Lamb

by HeahmundAndIvar (darachsciath)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Prisoner Ivar, Religious Conversion, Religious Inaccuracies, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darachsciath/pseuds/HeahmundAndIvar
Summary: Ivar does not return back home to Kattegat, but was taken elsewhere by King Ecbert’s soldiers. There, he comes across quite the peculiar man…





	Little Lamb

Ivar did not like it one bit when his father had made clear his true intentions of comin to England. Ivar did not want to leave him behind knowing that his father will die here. If Ragnar had to die, then all Ivar cares about is dying with him, but his father had said no and had asked Ecbert one last favour in the name of his son: he wanted Ivar to return home to his mother and his brothers in Kattegat. King Ecbert had agreed with the old king’s offer, or so it seemed. The thing is, between Ecbert and Ragnar there would always be more politics than true emotions. Even when it looks like they are kind for each other, there will always be another reason underneath. Ivar, being as unfamiliar with the Saxon king and the habits of his people, could only do nothing but listen to his father who had told him it would be okay - that his son would be fine, and safe.

Upon his departure from the small town of Wessex - or at least, that’s how Ivar came to know it, he was given a gift by the young child that had kept him company during his stay at King Ecbert’s cold, stone castle. The boy’s name was Alfred, and they had played enough chess games together for the child to leave one of the pieces in Ivar’s possession, as if the boy believed that one day they would meet again. Ivar could not tell for certain if that would be the case. If the gods want it to be that way, then they shall meet again. The chances exist, however, because Ivar had been told by his father that he would need to return one day - that he will have to avenge Ragnar’s death. 

The soldiers were kind with the boy, and had given Ivar a cloak to keep himself warm once the English weather took a new turn. Grey clouds had gathered above the small host. The rain felt cold, and the wind only made it worse. Ivar could feel it in his bones and it made him think of home. This weather was not something Ivar does not know, but it’s also something he’s not entirely fond of. Yet, he did not say anything about it. The Saxons would not understand anyway, and Ivar had started to feel so lonely he doubted even Thor would hear him now. Ivar just wrapped the cloak close around him and tried to keep at least his upper body a little warmed while he laid down on the hay sacks on the cart. Sooner than he had expected it to happen, the boy’s eyes fell shut and Ivar dozed off to sleep under the gentle hobbling of the cart on the pathway they were following. 

Ivar still held Alfred’s chess piece in his fist when he woke up again. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark and grey. The cart no longer hobbled, because the host had stopped. They had arrived at their destination, or at least that was what Ivar could assume when he rubbed his eyes briefly before looking around. They were at a place that looked quite similar to Wessex on first sight. Ivar wondered if this was a harbor town, because that was what was promised to him: he would return home to his mother.

Ivar wanted to ask where they were, but he knew they would not understand anyway. He did not know the right words in their own language either, and perhaps he was not even meant so speak, so instead he remained quiet, pulled his cloak a bit closer around him and waited just like the soldiers who had come with him. Ivar watched how a shy figure in a large, dark brown hood shuffled by. They had their hands folded in front of them, hidden in the large sleeves of their mantle which was tied around their waist with a simple rope. The large hood covered most of their face, but Ivar could still see the features of a man, especially when the stranger rose his chin to have a better look at the riders. He then asked the men something in their own language. Ivar could only listen and have the wildest guesses at what the men were saying. By the time the man in the hood left, Ivar still could not tell for himself what they had been talking about, so he could only wait and wonder when his journey back home will continue. 

Soon, a new figure appeared. The man was dressed alike to the man in the hood, yet they looked different. This man’s cloth was black, and he did not hide away his hair or his face. It must be that he was either not ashamed, or that he had a different position in this community. Perhaps, he was more important than the man clad in brown - or the opposite, a learning man. Ivar did not care. He did not understand. The Christians have plenty of habits, rules and other stupid things the young prince couldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried to find sense in them. Ivar looked at the man who had come to stand by his side. He looked up at the Viking boy who sat on the back of a cart, calm eyes inspecting Ivar quite patiently. “Your father,” the man said. “They call him Ragnar Lothbrok. Is that right?” 

Ivar could only look at the man. He had spoken some words, perhaps even asked something - Ivar assumed so because the tone in the man’s voice had made it sound like he was curious about the boy’s father. Ragnar’s name was the only thing Ivar had understood. The question itself, however, had gone lost. 

“Ah,” the man mused to himself. A hand went up to pluck at the black hairs on his chin. He was thinking. “You speak the Northern tongue, which I do not. But fear not, young prince. You were sent here with a purpose.” The man took a step back and turned to the host of English soldiers who had been assigned the task of bringing Ivar home. “Take him inside,” the man ordered. “You can stay for as long as you want. Once you return to King Ecbert, I want him to know the heathen child is now under my care.” 

As you wish, Bishop Heahmund.” The men on their horses nodded and the rider whose horse pulled the cart moved on. A single rider followed after him. He helped lifting the crippled Viking boy from the cart and brought Ivar inside a small stone place like he had seen when visiting King Ecbert with his father. However, this settlement was not the home of a king, but it was inhabited by about a dozen of men dressed in long, brown hoods. Their hair looked a little funny, Ivar thought when he caught the eyes of one of the young men. The boy could hardly be much younger than Ivar himself, but it was clear that he knew a lot more fear. Casting his gaze upon the heathen, the boy exclaimed a silent gasp, almost like a maiden who was about to faint when a sacrifice to the gods spices up the emotions of the crowd. Soon, more frightened eyes followed Ivar and the English soldiers, but his encounter with the monks was brief. He was brought to a small room with only a bed and a single burning candle. There were no windows in the small square space, making this residence even worse than that which King Ecbert had offered him, but Ivar did not mind. He believed that within a few days, he would be on his way back home to his mother, even when he could hear the lock turning once the soldiers had closed the wooden door behind them…

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://heahmundandivar.tumblr.com/) for more!


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